


Gold and Roses

by mitchmatch24



Series: Complexities of the Heart and Mind [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Angst, Bisexual Aaron Hotchner, Bisexual Spencer Reid, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heid Freeform, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Music, Kind of canon compliant but not all at the same time, Kissing, M/M, Prompt Fill, Romance, Tags are so hard and for what, UnSub!Hotch, kind of a plot?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitchmatch24/pseuds/mitchmatch24
Summary: He didn’t understand it. He couldn’t fully grasp it. It felt oddly calming, knowing the untouchable men were finally suffering for their wrong doings. Spencer was the farthest thing from stupid; he knew that those with money had secrets, but he couldn’t stop the small part of his mind from screaming that he shouldn’t have fallen into Hotch’s web.AU - Hotch is a prosecutor and an unsub and Spencer can't help but be curious.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Series: Complexities of the Heart and Mind [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2135328
Comments: 14
Kudos: 63





	Gold and Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Hotch never joined the FBI and is on the opposite side of the law while working within the law system. Spencer can't help but become entangled in his web. 
> 
> Idea credit: user - surrenderdammit (AO3) and their fic 'the only way to resist (is to give in)' Go check it out!! It's so good. I wrote this to the song 'Save that shit' by lil peep x nirvana (miro mashup) and I think it fits the vibe. Go give it a listen for the full effect. It's so worth it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this short little fic. I wanted to write but I really don't want to work on my other fics rn lmfao. Please enjoy and let me know what you think! I like feedback so I know what I need to change/improve on.
> 
> *any spelling/grammar mistakes are mine and mine alone but I probably won't fix them lol.*

Spencer Reid sat perplexed by the case file in front of him, his knuckles brushing over his jawline as he stared at the photos and information before him. The crime was white collar, a CEO in D.C. murdered in his home. In one photo millionaire Steven Carmichael was shot dead, one shot to the head, one shot to the heart. He had been found by his house staff the next day. The killer had been extremely organized and meticulous, slipping into the house and out without so much as a hair being left behind. The odd part was that murder seemed to be the goal, nothing else from the house or from Carmichael’s desk missing. These cases usually involved money, murder being a political statement or an unwanted side-effect. What truly threw Spencer off guard was the last piece, the only thing remaining being a singular gold card, a rose petal printed over the top as a calling card. This was the fourth in a string of these murders, each the same as the one before it.

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” Spencer groveled, pushing a hand through his hair as he tried to piece a profile together.

“It doesn’t make sense to me either, pretty boy,” Derek Morgan commented, shrugging as he took a sip of his coffee.

Spencer bit his lower lip, narrowing his eyes further at the pieces of paper before him. “But why be sure to leave absolutely nothing and then turn around and leave a card? And why that signature? What’s significant about a rose petal on a gold foil card? It just… it doesn’t make any sense and I can’t wrap my finger around it!” Spencer said, his voice raising with his apparent frustration. Prentiss and Morgan eyed him warily, both looking from each other to the genius and then back to each other. Spencer sighed, slumping in his chair, his frustration growing by the second. Spencer had always hated feeling unintelligent, especially with an I.Q. of 187. As a child he had been bullied and constantly belittled for his intelligence, people often taking advantage of him because he was years younger.

“Let’s go home and sleep on it,” Emily said, standing from her desk. Spencer nodded, standing and grabbing his satchel from the back of his desk chair, tossing it over his shoulder and adjusting it. Spencer waved his goodbyes to his coworkers, walking to the nearest metro station and waiting for his train. He read the original Russian version of ‘War and Peace’ on his way home, the train ride flying by as he tried not to get overly lost in his novel. He walked the rest of the way home, walking into his apartment building and saying hello to the worker behind the reception desk. He took the stairs as opposed the elevator, memories of getting trapped in one with Morgan flooding his mind and making him let out a tired chuckle.

He unlocked the door to his apartment, stepping inside and slipping off his beat-up Chuck Taylor’s by the door. He flicked on the lights, hating the darkness of the room. Although he was a bit embarrassed to admit it, Spencer still had a fear of the dark. How could you not when you hunted down the worst and most sadistic killers in the country? Spencer took his messenger bag off his shoulder, depositing it on his desk that was covered with books and papers. He glanced over, looking back down at his desk before his eyes widened. Sitting in a chair a few feet away was a man, his calf resting on his right knee, a gold foil card between his fingers.

“Wh-Who are you and why are you in my a-apartment?” Spencer stuttered, his eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Hello, Doctor Reid. I don’t believe we’ve met,” the raven-haired man, a small smirk playing on his lips. The man stood, standing at 6 foot 1, power and control exuding from every glorious inch of him. Spencer felt oddly at ease, his apprehension slowly slipping away as curiosity took its place.

“Who are you?” Spencer repeated, more forceful this time, his hand creeping to his sidearm.

The man chuckled, pulling a Glock from his side, and pointing it at Spencer, his brow arched. “That isn’t a wise decision, doctor, and you know that. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to talk to you,” the man said, his deep voice ringing through out the room. Spencer slowly moved his hand away, keeping them at a place where this mystery man could see them. “Please, sit,” the man said, motioning to the second antique leather chair in Spencer’s living room. Spencer almost commented on the irony of being told he could sit somewhere in his own living room, but he opted against it.

Spencer stepped over to the chair, cautiously sitting down in it, the man sitting across from him. The man had tan skin and deep brown eyes, eyes that were alert to everything going on around them. His hair was slicked perfectly into place, not a hair daring to slip from its position and corrupt the well put together image displayed by the stoic man sitting just a few feet away. His suit had a subtle sheen that told Spencer it was custom and expensive, the way the black material of his jacket draped over his frame speaking to quality of his tailor’s work. A white dress shirt was a stark contrast to the black and gray tie that was perfectly tied, small double GGs linking all over the tie. If Spencer knew the man wasn’t an intruder and more than likely incredibly dangerous, he would already be salivating over the man.

“Who are you and why are you in my home?” Spencer asked for the third time.

The man’s lips twitched in amusement. “I’m Aaron Hotchner,” he began, his fingers toying with the gold card, “the man your unit is looking for.”

Spencer swallowed, trying to tamp down his nervousness and curiosity. “And why are you in my home? Knowing you could be arrested or killed right now?” Spencer pushed on, his voice softening although he didn’t know why. Hotchner was just as perplexing as his case file, his eyes glittering with unspoken danger and insatiable sin-filled desires.

Hotchner visibly relaxed, his fingers intertwining in his lap, a lazy smile on his face. “I’m here to make a deal with you, doctor. I’m hoping you’ll be more than willing to work within my terms,” Hotchner explained nonchalantly, as though Spencer was a business partner rather than an FBI agent that could get him thrown in a cold prison cell for the rest of his life.

“And if I don’t accept?” Spencer pondered, giving Hotchner a pointed look.

Hotchner’s smile faded into a wolfish grin, his fingers unlacing and finding the cool metal of the Glock he wore on his side. “I believe you’ll find me to be…” Hotchner said, his eyes flicking to his sidearm and then back to Spencer’s, his stare mystifying, “very convincing.”

Spencer gulped, his head slowly nodding his understanding. “What are your terms for this, erm, deal?” Spencer asked, his eyes glued to the way Hotchner’s fingers stroked over the steel of his weapon. His eyes flicked to Hotchner’s face, which was twitching with amusement.

“It’s very simple. You don’t turn me in, I get rid of the white-collar problems,” he said simply.

“What do you mean ‘problems?’” Spencer asked in bewilderment, “I work for the BAU, not the white-collar division.

Hotchner chuckled, the dark sound reverberating in Spencer’s ears. “I know that, Spencer. I can call you Spencer, right?” he asked, his fingers coming back to lace in his lap.

“Can I call you Aaron?” Spencer shot back in reply.

“If you want. Most people call me Hotch, though.”

“Hotch, then. What do you mean my problems?”

Hotchner—no, _Hotch_ —cocked his head to the side, danger glittering in his eyes, the gears in his mind turning as he thought about how he wanted to phrase his requests or he was waiting for Spencer to figure out what he wanted. Spencer theorized but stayed silent, his knuckles brushing against his jawline as he watched Hotch watch him. Finally, Hotch spoke again. “You are aware of who I’m dealing with, yes?” Hotch asked, rubbing the pads of his fingers together. A nervous tic, Spencer inquired.

“You’re killing rich investors, CEOs, and politicians. While I can’t say they are the best people in the world, they didn’t deserve to be murdered,” Spencer said coldly. Hotch stared daggers into him, making Spencer immediately regret his tone of voice. He had never seen a glare that cold in his life.

“You don’t work as closely with them as I do. You don’t see the people they harm and the atrocities they commit for the sake of money and power,” Hotch said, speaking the words with such venom it sent a shiver up Spencer’s spine.

Spencer shot him a skeptical look; his brows marred with confusion. “What do you mean ‘atrocities’? What do you do to know that?” Spencer asked, his voice never wavering as he tried to learn further, trying to understand more of the complexities presented by Hotch.

“I work as a prosecutor, Spencer. I work the ins and outs of the legal system, often trying to prosecute these rich men for their crimes against people. Many take advantage of their wives and children, preying on those who need an extra dollar in their pocket. The things they do… the things I’ve seen and the things I’ve seen them pull themselves out of because of their money and connections is horrific,” Hotch explained, hate-filled passion swimming in the depths of his eyes. Passion, that by all means, was fiery but irrevocably truthful. Spencer’s heart sank, knowing that meant he would be more susceptible to Hotch and his cause. Spencer was one for truth and justice, not for political smoke screens and one injustice for another.

“But… murder?” Spencer’s voice was soft, nearing disbelief.

The raven-haired man nodded, letting out a deep exhalation. “Just last week a was a part of a case in which a CEO managed to escape going to prison for serial rape. It was… horrible and I can’t sit back and let it happen. These victims need justice and the perpetrators need to be brought to it.”

And Spencer couldn’t help but agree, his mind already becoming entangled in Aaron Hotchner’s dark world and deep brown eyes.

* * *

Another case, another victim, another chance for Spencer to be put in danger. Spencer had made a deal with Hotch, his mind flicking between ‘this is incredibly wrong’ and ‘this is so incredibly right’. He couldn’t make up his mind. He didn’t understand it. He couldn’t fully grasp it. It felt oddly calming, knowing the untouchable men were finally suffering for their wrong doings. Spencer was the farthest thing from stupid; he knew that those with money had secrets, but he couldn’t stop the small part of his mind from screaming that he shouldn’t have fallen into Hotch’s web.

Hotch hadn’t told him everything. If anything, he hadn’t said a thing. He gave Spencer the number to a burner phone and said, ‘don’t hesitate to call should something come up’. It had been weeks and Spencer hadn’t called, although Hotch would drop by every once and while and talk to him about what had been going on. Spencer didn’t understand what drew him towards Hotch or why he felt so at ease around him. He was serial killer, after all, and a damn good one at that. He had never once slipped up, never once deviated from his M.O., never once gloated or let himself become too comfortable. And so Spencer lied, telling his team that he had no idea who the unsub could be, perfectly selling his act and putting on his reputable mask that people trusted oh so easily.

And now Spencer stood face to face with another killer, trying to talk him off the edge. “Think about what Jaden would have wanted, Caleb. Think about her and what she would have wanted. She wouldn’t want you to kill yourself or hurt anyone else. Just put down the gun and we can talk. I just want to talk,” Spencer coaxed, looking at the tear stained eyes of a young adult, teetering on the edge between volatility and desolation. Unfortunately, Spencer’s coaxing didn’t seem to work, the man getting a shot off that grazed his arm before Morgan shot the man dead.

Spencer once again unlocked the door to his apartment, slipping his shoes off and then walking straight to his antique chairs, flopping into one of them and letting out a long sigh.

“What happened to you?”

Spencer jumped about a mile high, his right arm smarting as his wound rubbed against the side of the chair. “Can you stop doing that?” Spencer asked, pure bewilderment painted on his face as he clutched at his chest, the spark of surprise making his heartbeat faster.

Hotch gave him a small, sympathetic smile, sitting in the chair across from him. He was dressed in slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, his image crafted with meticulous skill and reflecting the powerful man Hotch was. “Sorry, Spencer. I just noticed your arm and it concerned me. I don’t like people hurting you,” he explained, the words making Spencer’s stomach do happy little flips before the warm feeling was shoved aside by the moral split that would be forever locked in his mind.

“It really isn’t any of your business, Hotch,” Spencer admonished, although his words seemed weak to even his own ears.

He was rewarded with that wolfish grin that made Spencer weak in the knees, the flash of white teeth in the low light of his apartment dragging his mind closer and closer to the gutter. “Oh, but it is, Spencer,” he quipped, his voice low and seductive, “we both know that. Each and every night you get closer and closer to the point where you are willing to let go for the sake of me. That makes anything that happens to you, my concern.”

Spencer swallowed, his mouth and throat going dry at the suggestive words. “T-That isn’t true,” Spencer whispered, trying to act as though he hadn’t been shaken. He didn’t sell it well. At all.

“You don’t sound too convinced,” Hotch began, standing and taking a step in Spencer’s direction, “you seem the opposite. Like you want to convince yourself but can’t bring yourself to do it.”

“You’re wrong,” Spencer said more firmly, his eyes glowing with determination, but his eyes were on his hands rather than Hotch’s face.

He could feel Hotch’s grin, the one that spoke a million words with simple silence. Spencer couldn’t tell if he liked the silence or if he liked the conversation more, the silence growing more and more heated by the second while the conversation drove him to the edge of his morals, slowing inching him off the ledge and down a trench he wouldn’t be able to dig himself out of. Did he even want to dig out of that trench? What did he want? “Am I Spencer?” Hotch pushed, taking another agonizing step forward.

“I… I don’t know,” Spencer finally admitted, hanging his head in slight shame and utter confusion. These types of situations, situations that dealt with heated tension and fierce consequences, had never been a specialty of Doctor Spencer Reid. Besides hiding his drug problem after Tobias Hankel, he was never someone who had been good at reading between the lines and manipulating those lines.

Hotch stopped directly in front of Reid, bending down, and looking directly up into his hazel eyes. “It’s alright, Spencer. Don’t focus too much on the confliction in your mind. If I did, it would be the death of me. Sometimes two wrongs make a right, and that’s simply how it must be,” he explained gently, his voice soft and soothing and addictively reassuring. Spencer wanted nothing more than to fall too deep into Hotch’s web when he spoke to him like that. “Spencer? Are you alright?”

Spencer nodded, sighing, and closing his eyes in resignation, his mind conceding and getting trapped deeper and deeper in Hotch’s sinful words. “Yes, it just takes a moment to fully… comprehend and let go of… well, you understand, don’t you?”

Hotch nodded, “I understand, yes. It seems very surreal in the beginning, but it feels so right once you finally let yourself go.” Spencer nodded, believing him. His words were nothing but sincere and Spencer had no reason not to believe him.

So, Spencer believed him.

* * *

Spencer reached for his phone with trembling fingers. He had already hovered above the call button three times but had hit the off button on his phone and set it down before he could dial. Finally he dialed, hitting the button, and holding the phone to his ear shakily, not letting himself overthink his choice yet again.

“Hotchner.” A quick, serious reply. Something that was probably habitual when he picked up the phone, Spencer inferenced.

Spencer swallowed and then his words fell out of his mouth, coming out in a jumbled rush. “Hi, Hotch. I don’t mean to bother you, but I really need to talk to you about this case and—”

“Spencer.”

“I’m sorry. Did I bother you? You’re probably busy. I’m sorry. This was such a stupid idea. I’ll hang up and leave you—”

“Spencer, stop talking.” Spencer quieted immediately, his tongue flicked over his bottom lip and then his teeth sunk into it, his anxiety growing into a bigger and bigger knot in the put of his stomach. “Now, what’s going on? Tell me. _Slowly_.”

“I, um, I just had a really bad case and I thought it would be a good idea to tell you about it because you might understand. But it was a stupid idea. I shouldn’t have tried bothering you. I’m sorry. I’ll leave you be to work if you want me to,” Spencer explained, slower but his words were still fast and clipped as his anxiety rose inside of him.

Hotch chuckled, the sound light-hearted, making Spencer melt inside just a little, the sound smooth and every bit as powerful as the man who spoke it into existence. “Spencer, it’s alright. I can meet you and talk to you. I can relate to you better than your teammates, can’t I?” Hotch said, his voice a slight hum. The sound of leather creaking drew Spencer’s attention as he imaged the scene on the other side of the line. He could only imagine Hotch sitting in a large leather desk chair, surrounded by shelves and books, a large window behind him, giving him a perfect view of D.C. Spencer shook off the thought before it grew and took root into something it should never be. Something it never could be. Could it?

“Yes. You understand at it on different level than they do. I just don’t want to be alone until I get some of this… darkness out of my head,” Spencer said, rubbing the back of his neck, his hair falling forward and into his face.

“I’ll be there, Spencer. Do you need a ride home or would you prefer to go out somewhere?” Hotch asked, forever a gentleman.

“You can meet me at my home.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

And an there he stood at Spencer’s door an hour later, his light gray jacket draped over his forearm, one hand in his pocket. He wore a small, reassuring smile on his face, trying to give Spencer some form of comfort as his mind wrestled with itself.

“C-Come in,” Spencer croaked, moving out of the way of the door, his arms wrapping around his side. Hotch stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and closing the door behind himself, his eyes growing soft from the disheveled look Spencer wore. It was out of character for Spencer Reid. He wore dark circles under his eyes, his body language revealing his exhaustion. Hotch tossed his jacket over the back of the couch, turning around and the standing in front of a ragged Spencer, waiting for Spencer to start talking. Spencer walked over to his chair and collapsed in it, his thin fingers reaching down and wrapping around a mug and holding it in his lap, his gaze steady on the contents.

Hotch seated himself in the chair opposite Spencer, his concern growing as the moments slipped by. He cleared his throat, “Spencer. What’s wrong? Please, talk to me,” Hotch urged lightly, hoping Spencer would open up if he asked first rather then waiting for him to open up on his own.

A small whimper escaped Spencer’s lips before he could lock it inside himself, his carefully conjured strength crashing to the ground as he broke down, tears escaping his eyes. “We had a case in Oregon and we were trying to stop a kid from killing himself and the hostage and,” Spencer started, tears trickling down his cheeks as pain radiated from the inside out, “and when we got there, his friend who was an accomplice didn’t want to go down for being the mastermind for the entire thing, was trying to talk him into killing himself and the girl. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop him! And I wanted to hurt him! I wanted him to suffer for all the lives he destroyed. He’ll get off with ten years at the maximum rather than life now, all because I failed. And no one else understood how angry it made me.”

Hotch just sat and listened as Spencer spilled all of his feelings out from inside himself, nodding and offering small ‘mm hm’s’ to convey he was listening. When Spencer ran out of tears and words, he fell silent, taking in a few deep breaths to try and calm himself. Hotch moved closer then, falling onto one knee and taking one of Spencer’s hands in his, offering a look of intense empathy and understanding. Some of the clouds in Spencer’s bright brown eyes seemed to float away, the light returning in them as Hotch simply squeezed his hand in solidarity, no words being shared between the two men. There was no need for them in this moment, serene silence falling over them like a veil and protecting them in their own little world.

“I’m sorry to dump all of this on you. I didn’t know who else to call,” Spencer murmured quietly, the cracks in his voice dissipating as he seemed to find his composure.

Hotch smiled, “it’s perfectly alright Spencer. I told you, your problems are in part my own. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Spencer’s face tightened with confusion, questions filling his mind. “Why?” he inquired softly.

“Because I care about you Spencer. I can’t explain it all in depth, but it’s still there. I just can’t seem to keep myself away,” he offered in reply, the words strong and wrought with sincerity. A warm feeling blanketed Spencer at the small admission, making him hum happily. Hotch chuckled warmly, smiling brightly at Spencer, and cupping his cheek in his calloused palm. The touch was chaste and feather light, making Spencer swoon. “You have the same feeling, don’t you?” he asked, inviting eyes drawing Spencer in further and further and further, enveloping him in a place of protected warmth.

Spencer nodded, “yes, I do. I don’t understand it, but I can’t stop myself from feeling this way.” He closed his eyes, enjoying how Hotch’s fingers brushed across his cheek. Hotch took the mug from his fingers, placing it on the coffee table and stood, slipping his arms under Spencer and picking him up, carrying him down the hall and into Spencer’s bedroom. He laid him on the bed carefully, pulling the soft sheets over Spencer and placing a warm kiss to his forehead.

“Go to sleep, Spencer. I will talk to you again soon.”

“’Mkay,” Spencer mumbled, a sleepy smile on his face as he drifted off to sleep, the smell of Hotch’s cologne lingering in his nostrils.

Spencer wasn’t surprised when he come home from work the next day and found a small bouquet of roses and a gold foil card, the initials AH written in bold, masculine penmanship on his coffee table.

* * *

Spencer didn’t know how long he had walked. He had gotten close the metro station and then just decided against going home, his mind clouded by his sorrow from some particularly bad news. The doctors from Bennington Sanitarium had contacted him, informing him his mother had Alzheimer’s as well as schizophrenia. Tears had fallen hard and fast, but he had hid them from the rest of his team, even his mentor, Jason Gideon. He had been walking all over D.C., not getting himself lost as he had memorized a map of the city, but he wasn’t going anywhere in particular.

Spencer had his head downcast, avoiding the other pedestrians passing by on the street. Then, of course, he had collided with someone else, nearly knocking himself to the ground. He stumbled but two strong hands caught him before he fell all the way to the ground. Spencer looked up, his face apologetic as he started apologizing to the person he had crashed into, “I’m so sor—Hotch?”

Hotch looked down at him, letting him get his balance before releasing him. “Spencer, what’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong,” Spencer lied quickly, shaking his head as his eyes darted in a million different directions in a vain attempt to avoid Hotch’s questions and concern. He didn’t want to scare the man away. He didn’t want this strong connection to die, leaving him behind like past relationships.

Hotch’s face hardened, making Spencer gulp. “Spencer, I don’t tolerate liars. Tell me. Please. Something is clearly bothering you. What is it?” he insisted, making Spencer’s guard nearly crumble.

“Can we… can we talk somewhere private?” Spencer asked quietly, feeling ashamed.

“Yes, of course. We can talk at my apartment. It’s closer. Come on,” Hotch said, leaving no room for arguments or further discussion. Tension rolled off Spencer in waves as they got closer and closer to their final destination. Hotch noticed but opted against commenting on it. Spencer’s eyes widened when Hotch pulled under the garage of one of the more expensive apartment complexes in the city. He knew Hotch had money, but not like this. They rode the elevator to Hotch’s floor in silence, Hotch’s leading the way to his apartment and opening the door, flicking on the lights, and letting Spencer inside.

Spencer followed Hotch inside, his fingers nervously flexing as he walked behind the man in front of him, leading him into the living room. “Sit. Please,” Hotch said, motioning to the sofa and two armchairs that sat in front of a fireplace and mantle. For being an apartment, it was very spacious and luxurious, the space modern yet still inviting and expensive. Spencer sat as he was directed, his eyes remaining trained on his fingers in his lap. “Spencer, what’s wrong?” Hotch asked.

“It’s really nothing, Hotch. You shouldn’t worry about me,” Spencer admitted, a twinge of pain slicing him to the bone.

“No, it isn’t nothing. I care, Spencer. Just tell me,” Hotch insisted.

“You don’t want to know, Hotch. You’ll think I’m insane if I tell you.”

Hotch sat in disbelief for a moment, shocked by the brutality of Spencer’s words. “You don’t know that Spencer,” Hotch said before he was cut off abruptly.

Spencer rose to his feet quickly, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. “You’ll leave if I tell you! You’ll leave like everyone else in my life! Just let it go, Hotch!” Spencer roared, less angry at Hotch and angrier at those in his past. Angry at his father. At past partners and friends. Angry at people for leaving him to deal with this fear all by himself.

“I’m not leaving you, Spencer. Just tell me and we can take this one step at a time,” he reasoned, but Spencer was too worked up to hear it.

“But you _will_ leave! Everyone always leaves! Always!” Spencer yelled, his voice rising with his growing frustrations.

“I’m not those people. I don’t want to leave you, Spencer.”

“Fine! You want to know!? My mom has schizophrenia and now she has fucking Alzheimer’s and I can’t do anything to help her! I might be schizophrenic! Is that what you wanted!?” Spencer spat, tears beginning to course down his face as he finally broke down.

_Silence._

“Well? Is that what you wanted to fucking hear, Hotch?” Spencer asked shakily, his face falling into his hands as he cried more openly, the dam breaking open inside his chest and the emotions flowing out.

“Oh, Spencer…” Hotch said, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave now,” Spencer said, taking a step in the direction of the door.

“Why are you leaving?” Hotch asked, confusion marring his face as hurt and concern flashed in those mystifying brown eyes.

Spencer paused, turning to look at him with tear stained eyes, confused himself by the question. “Don’t you want me to leave after hearing that?”

“No, Spencer,” he said, coming over to him and tentatively wrapping him in his arms. Spencer hated touched but he melted into this touch, the feeling of warmth and the hits of cologne overtaking the painful emotions breaking him apart inside. “Spencer… I’m in love with you.”

That hit Spencer like a ton of bricks, but he didn’t start panicking. He was stunned, sure. But panic wasn’t flowing through his veins. He looked up, finding Hotch’s eyes. “Hotch, I… you’re really in love with me?” he asked, in utter disbelief. Hotch nodded. “I-I love you, too. I started falling from the very beginning,” Spencer admitted.

Hotch’s lips curved into a smile. “I’m not leaving Spencer. It seems cliché, but I need you too much. I care. I’ll always care,” he vowed.

“Hotch—”

“Aaron.”

“What?” Spencer asked.

“Call me Aaron, Spencer. These feelings are becoming more,” he instructed.

“Yes, they are. So… how are we going to do this?” Spencer asked, feeling strong hands creeping under his cardigan.

“Well first,” Aaron purred, “I’m going start by doing what I wanted to do since the very beginning.”

Spencer swallowed. “And what would that be?”

Aaron grinned, turning him around and pulling his back against his chest, hot breath caressing his neck. Aaron’s fingers brushed his hair away from his ear, his mouth brushing against it. “I’m going to mark you and make you mine,” he whispered, and Spencer couldn’t help but get turned on from the thought.

“Please,” he begged in a whisper, wanting the exact same thing.

“Good boy,” Aaron praised, pulling him backwards towards the bedroom.

And Aaron did what he had promised, marking Spencer and fully entangling him in his web.

**Author's Note:**

> LMK what you think and thanks for reading! :)


End file.
